


It Takes a Village

by GilliganGoodfellow



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cole (Dragon Age) Being Cole, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Human Cole (Dragon Age), Hurt/Comfort, It's just an excuse for everyone to be nice to Cole :-), M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 00:33:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21698530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GilliganGoodfellow/pseuds/GilliganGoodfellow
Summary: It takes a village to raise a child...
Relationships: Blackwall/Josephine Montilyet, Cole (Dragon Age) & Everyone, Cremisius "Krem" Aclassi & Sera, Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 11
Kudos: 60





	1. The Game

“The political situation is dire, but not irreversible.” Cullen says as he sits at his desk. “Leliana is working with Sera’s contacts to garner information from the servant quarters.”

“Now _that_ I want to see.” The Inquisitor chuckles. “Leliana working with Sera.”

“Actually, from what I’ve heard, they make a good pair.”

“The card is on the war table. It’s a picture of a nightingale.”

Both turn to see the newcomer now standing by the door.

“Cole?” Cullen stands to greet him. “What did you forget to do?”

“Oh, sorry.” The boy looks at the floor, and then steps out of the room. A second later, he knocks.

The Inquisitor can barely hold back their laughter as Cullen shakes his head. “Come in?”

Cole opens the door. “Are you busy, Cullen?”

“Neither of us are too busy for you, Cole.” The Inquisitor says, smiling at Cullen as they stand. “What brings you here?”

Cole looks from the Inquisitor to Cullen. “I wanted to play the candle game again.”

Cullen clears his throat, and then nods. “Of course, Cole. I did say that we could play it whenever you need to.”

“The candle game?”

“Can we show the Inquisitor?” Cole asks, before turning to their leader. “Cullen says I’m very good at it now.”

“With your leave, Inquisitor? This should not take long.”

“Of course.” 

Cullen smiles as he lights a candle, bringing it back to the desk. “Sit in my chair, Cole.”

Cole removes his hat, resting it on the edge of the desk, before draping his coat over the back of the chair. He then sits as instructed, eyes focused on the flame. His face is calm, with a small, excited smile on his lips that quickly brings a smile to the Inquisitor’s own as they watch.

“Place your hands either side of the candle.” Cullen instructs, a softness to his voice that The Inquisitor doubts few people ever hear. “Lean towards the flame. Not close enough to feel the heat, but so your breath passes over it.”

The Inquisitor crosses their arms, watching the scene quietly.

“Good.” Cullen stands behind Cole, his hands rested against the boy’s shoulders. “Now, take a deep breath, and keep breathing in until I say three.”

Cole breaths in. 

“One. Two. Three. Now hold it.”

He does so.

“Now, slowly breath out with your mouth. Do not blow out the candle. Control your breathing.”

Cole does so, watching as the flame flickers and dances in front of him. 

“Good. Again. Breath in. One. Two. Three. Hold. Now breathe out. Do not blow out the candle.”

Cole finishes breathing out, and Cullen smiles as he feels the shoulders beneath his hands lose some of their tension. 

“Very good, Cole. Carry on. You have nothing to see but the candle. Nothing to feel but your breathing. And nothing to hear but my voice. Your mind needs to be focused only on your task. Any other thoughts just acknowledge, and then leave them. Breath in.” He drops his voice to a whisper. “One. Two. Three. Hold. Breath out.”

The candle flickers, and the shoulders beneath his hands relax further and further as Cole sinks slightly into the chair.

“Breath. In. One. Two. Three. Hold. Breath out. Good.”

The Inquisitor’s smile widens as they make eye contact with Cullen. “An interesting game.”

“I wasn’t very good the first time.” Cole says, his voice making him sound like a tranquil. “I kept blowing the candle out, or not breathing in enough. I had to learn to not be angry when I play it. The breathing is important. And the voice is important to. Someone counting. It means your not lonely.”

“Cole has been having trouble sleeping.” Cullen takes his hands away from Cole’s shoulders, as if just realising that they are there. “Games like this help him to calm his thoughts before going to bed.”

“Well, it looks very relaxing. You will have to teach me sometime.” The Inquisitor says, nodding their approval. 

Trust Cullen to find ways to trick people into meditating. 


	2. The Box

The Inquisitor is still smiling as they cross the bridge into the atrium. 

“Fricking thing weighs a tonne.” Sera’s voice. “You really going to make Creepy a blanket with this? Quillback leather is for armour.” She chuckles. “You making him an armoured blanket?”

“It’s going to be a heavy blanket.” Krem’s voice. 

“Damn right it’ll be heavy.”

“Let’s rest here.”

There is a loud thud as what sounds like a wooden box hits the floor, and the Inquisitor takes this as their cue to enter the Atrium. Sure enough, a large wooden box is partway across the room, and currently being leant against by Sera and Krem, the latter of whom has swapped his usual armour for a more casual trousers and shirt combination. 

“You’re worship.” He throws the Inquisitor a sloppy salute, and then slides down to lay on the floor. 

“I hope I am not walking in on you two stealing supplies from the Inquisition stores?” The Inquisitor looks at Sera. “Again.”

“I’ve cleared it with Morris.” Krem says without sitting up. 

“If you say so.” The Inquisitor shakes their head. “And what do you need this much Quillback leather for?”

“Private project.” Krem says. 

“He’s making Creepy an armoured blanket.”

Krem closes his eyes. “It’s a HEAVY blanket.”

“A heavy blanket?” The Inquisitor sits down on the floor in front of the pair. 

“Old Tevinter trick.” Krem says as he sits up, eyes opening. “The extra weight helps you to rest. The pressure is like being hugged all over. It’s comforting.”

“Wow. Hugged all over.” Sera widens her eyes. “I think I want one.”

“I’ll make you one next.” Krem stands, and beckons for Sera to join him as, between them, they pick up the box. “Hopefully it will help Cole with his sleeping issues. Just need to get this box to the barracks so I can start working on it.”

“Why don’t you work in my quarters instead?” The Inquisitor says. “More room for you in there.”

“I don’t want to impose, your worship.”

"I’m offering, Cremisius. Besides, I’m interested to see how this blanket is made.” They smile. “It’s a lovely idea.”

“Can I help?”

All three turn to look at Cole, who is now stood in the Atrium.

“Can I help make your blanket, Krem?”

“Um...well, it’s kind of…Can you sew?”

“No.” Cole shakes his head. “But I can learn.”

“Oh let him help.” Sera says. “It’ll be fun. For me. To watch.”

“Why am I friends with you?” Krem hisses, as Sera sticks out her tongue. 

He shakes his head, and shrugs. “Alright, Cole. You can help.”

“Alright.” Cole says, grabbing one side, while The Inquisitor grabs the other. Between the four of them, they begin their journey. 

“Who are you making the blanket for?” Cole asks.

“Um...Bull.” Krem coughs. “It’s a surprise for Bull?”

Sera starts to speak, only to squeak when The Inquisitor gently kicks her under the box. 

“I’m sure it will be a lovely surprise for _Bull_ , Krem.”

“Yeah, to help him sleep.” Krem grits his teeth in an awkward smile.

“The Iron Bull is having trouble sleeping?” Cole looks at The Inquisitor. “Cullen could teach him the candle game. I’ll ask him.”

Through some miracle, the other three manage not to drop the box as Cole lets go and runs back to Cullen’s room.

“Great.” Krem says, slowly.

“So.” Sera giggles. “Who's going to tell Bull that he’s having trouble sleeping.”

The Inquisitor laughs. “I’ll warn him as soon as this is delivered.”

Sera nods, and looks at Krem. “Lead on, Lieutenant Kremlicious.”

“Call me that again and I’m getting a sword involved.”


	3. The Reality Check

Dorian is laid on the bed, VERY conscious of the heady mixture of red wine and fereldan beer sitting in his gut. Courage. His courage. Because the bed he is laying on is The Iron Bull’s. 

He’s still fully clothed, and Bull is laying next to him, one arm propping up his head and horns as he lays on his side, the other hand slowly exploring Dorian’s clothing, fingers tapping at studs and circling buckles. “Is there a name for this form of fashion?”

“Not that I am aware of.” Dorian says, quietly. He bites his lip. “I’m assuming you didn’t invite me here to talk about my clothing.”

“Hey.” Bull leans down, kissing Dorian’s temple before whispering near his ear. “We have all night.”

“And I would like to spend SOME of it sleeping off this wine.”

“Is impatience a Vint thing.” Bull returns to his original position. “Krem’s always impatient.”

“You sleep with your Lieutenant?” Dorian rolls his eyes. “Of course you sleep with your Lieutenant.”

“No, actually.” Bull chuckles. “If he asked I’d be more than willing. But he’s not a one night stand sort of guy. He prefers to wine and dine. Even took a girl to an Orlesian theatre once.” Bull ‘walks’ his fingers across Dorian’s stomach.

“Where as you prefer to get down to business.”

“Hey, Orlesian theatres ARE the business.” Bull smiles. “Last one I went to, they actually BLEW up the stage at the end.” He looks Dorian in the eye. “You ever been?” 

Dorian shakes his head.

“You should. Get Josephine to take you, she LOVES theatre.”

Dorian nods, closing his eyes as Bull’s hand reaches his jaw, stroking along the edges.

“Head feeling less fuzzy, yet?” Bull asks. 

And realisation hits Dorian. 

“Is that...is that why you’re...are you waiting for me to sober up?”

“You’re going to have a shit enough hangover without regret added to the mix.”

“I don’t GET hangovers.” Dorian smirks. “Practice makes perfect. And I am very much in control of my faculties, thank you. I know what I came here for.”

“But did you come here for a want or a need?” The Iron Bull hums. “They’re different. What you want right now could be clouded.” He taps Dorian’s head. “And what you need might be different. And I care that the need is what we help. Even if it is just me keeping you company for a while and then helping you back to your room.”

“I know what I came here for.” Dorian repeats, sounding frustrated. 

“Then you won’t change your mind an hour from now.” Bull taps his nose, and then his finger travels back down to trace more buckles.

“Or so you hope?” Dorian wonders if he sounds as confident as he doesn’t feel. It’s hard to keep up the pompous mask when The Iron Bull is looking at him like that. 

The Qunari’s fingers explore every inch of his clothing, and Dorian imagines them exploring his body, his skin damp with sweat, goosebumps forming as fingers glide across them. 

The hour is going to be torturous. 

Dorian is brought out of the trance by a voice.

“The Iron Bull?” Cole’s voice to be precise.

“Fucking demon cockblocking piece of…” Bull continued to mumble as he climbs out of the bed, donning his trousers. “Just need to give someone a reality check.”

“Reality check?”

Bull puts a finger to his lips, and opens the door to a pyjama clad teenager.

“The Iron Bull, are we in my head?”

“No, kid.” Bull crouches down in front of Cole. “You’re awake.”

“Did we fight a Fereldan frostback?”

“Yes. Sera shot it in the eye.”

“And then it snowed in the Atrium.”

Bull shakes his head. “That one you dreamed.”

“Oh.” Cole deflates, as if disappointed. “I liked playing in the snow.”

“We live in the Frostback mountains, kid.” Bull puts a hand on Cole’s shoulder. “You can go play in snow whenever you want.”

“You can’t have a snowball fight with one person.”

“Well, once the sun is up, why don’t you ask Lace. She LOVES snowball fights.”

Cole smiles, then his face falls. “Was the dungeon a dream?”

Bull sighs. “Yeah, Kid. No dungeons tonight. Here…” Standing, Bull moves over to his desk and writes out a quick note, signing it. He folds the paper and hands it to Cole. “Slide this under Cabot’s door, then go back to bed. Do you want me to sit with you?”

Dorian bites back his moan.

“No.” Cole says. “Dorian needs you to sit with him. Good night, The Iron Bull.”

“Good night, kid.”

“Good night, Dorian.” The boy speaks as if he isn’t the least bit surprised to find Dorian in The Iron Bull’s bed.

“Um...good night, Cole.”

Cole waves before darting towards the stairs, and Bull shuts the door.

“A reality check?” Dorian repeats the question.

“He gets confused when he wakes up in the night.” 

“Bless him.” Dorian says quietly, turning to look up at the ceiling. “What was the note?”

“What? Oh that. Just asking Cabot to make the kid some breakfast tomorrow, charge it to my tab.”

“Softie.”

“Now.” The Iron Bull climbs back onto the bed. “Where were we?”


	4. The Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I made it three chapters without hurting Cole. That's a record for me :-P

Josephine can’t help her coy smile as she admires the flowers that appeared on her desk overnight, reaching out to gently touch the petal. 

“Ah...Lady Josephine?”

“Blackwall.” She quickly pulls her hand away from the flowers, fidgeting with the bottom edge of her waistcoat as she turns to face him. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” Blackwall gives her a small bow. “I planned to walk along the battlements. I...uh...wondered if I might also enjoy your company?”

“I would be delighted.” She says, donning her warm cloak and then looping her arm through his. They walk in a comfortable silence as they make their way out to the front of the keep.

And straight into the chaos.

“Look out!” Cole’s warning is JUST in time as a snowball lands where Josephine’s feet had been.

“Sorry.” Harding calls from the other side of the yard, before crying out with laughter as Dagna lands the perfect shot right in the middle of her back. “Oh you are paying for that, Arcanist.”

Cole meanwhile is now being chased by Dagna, and her ready to throw snowball, around the yard. 

“Awe.” Josephine chuckles. “Isn’t it lovely when the children play nicely together?”

Blackwall laughs, patting her hand as they watch the trio play. They are not the only audience. Patches of onlookers have formed around the yard, people welcoming to light hearted play and the distraction it brings.

Cole hits Dagna on the arm, which earns him a returning snowball to the side. Dagna then scoops up another snowball and takes her shot at Cole, who skids out of the way. 

But then his feet fly out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground with a crack that Josephine is pretty sure can be heard on the other side of Skyhold. Her hands cover her mouth as she looks upon Cole, who is now curled around the clearly broken wrist.

“Cole.” Blackwall reaches the boy first, gently lifting him into a sitting position, which proves to be somewhat of a mistake as Cole immediately vomits, covering the front of Blackwall’s coat. The warden ignores it, turning Cole to face the ground as the boy continues coughing up his breakfast. 

“Okay, lad. Shhh. Get it out. Good lad.” He says it over and over again in a quiet voice, while rubbing Cole’s back. Josephine kneels down on his other side, gently cradling Cole’s broken wrist.

“Dagna’s gone to find a healer.” Harding says, kneeling down in front of the trio. “Hey Cole. You still with us?”

“Hurts.” The boy mutters. 

“I know, Cole.” Blackwall says, “Broke my wrist when I was your age. Hurts worse than anything. But it’s fine now. Look.” He wiggles his fingers in front of Cole. “Yours will be too. Doesn’t take that long to heal.”

“Will I be able to sew this afternoon?”

Josephine shakes her head. “No sewing for you, young man.”

“But I told Krem…” Cole starts to cough again, wincing at the pain it causes him. “My head feels empty. It doesn’t want to be held up.”

“Lean it against me.” Blackwall says, working his way out of his coat so that Cole has a clean shirt to rest against. 

“There’s a good lad.” Blackwall wraps his arms around Cole, while looking at Josephine and Harding. “He needs to be near a fire. His body’s not reacting well to the shock.”

Harding nods. “I’ll wait here for the healer, tell them where you are.”

“Mmm sorr…”

“Not your fault, lad. Shhh.” Blackwall murmurs as he lifts the now weeping boy, Josephine still gently cradling his hand. “We’ve got you.” They walk side by side up to the main keep and its warm fire, leaving Blackwall’s coat in the snow.


	5. The Group Project

“Well isn’t that just you, Cole.” Dorian says as he walks into the main keep. “You survive darkspawn, templars and a nightmare demon without a scratch, and then nearly kill yourself dodging a snowball.”

“Oh leave the poor boy be, Dorian.” Josephine warns. 

Blackwall is sitting at what is commonly referred to as Varric’s table in the keep, Cole sat in his lap as he has been since they arrived. Josephine is sitting next to them, her hand rested on Cole’s back. She knows Blackwall well enough to know that he won't be letting go of the boy until Cole asks. Which she guesses won’t be for a while. 

Cole looks thoroughly miserable as he rests against Blackwall. His left arm is now bound to a splint and secured against his chest, and there is a bump on his head that makes Dorian wince as he looks at it.

“Oh you have been through the wars today, haven't you.” He says in a softer voice as he stoops down in front of Cole and Blackwall. “Perhaps I should get you something to eat, Cole. You left most of your breakfast on the pavement.”

Cole slowly shakes his head, curling his right arm around his stomach.

“Still feeling unwell?” Dorian smiles, resting a hand on Cole’s shoulder as the boy nods. “I’m afraid that is the not very fun part of being human. Is there any pain?”

“The potions made it quiet.” Cole murmurs.

“That’s good, Cole.” Josephine says as she rubs Cole’s back. 

Dorian nods. “Sera and Krem are up in the Inquisitor’s room. How about we go join them?”

“You sure he should be in the same room as those two” Blackwall asks, a half smile on his face. “He’s got enough of a headache from that bump.”

Josephine and Dorian both laugh, but Cole only fidgets slightly.

“I want to help with the blanket.”

“Well, that decides that then.” Dorian says, before gently tapping Cole’s forehead. “Where did you leave your hat, young man?”

* * *

“Did you really know them.” Sera says. “The proper Hero of Fereldan.”

“I did more than know them.” Leliana says as she helps Sera to arrange leather strips into a lattice. “I was in their party.”

“Oh tell her about the time the mabari relieved itself on the qunari’s leg.” Josephine looks up from her sewing. “I do love that one.”

“Josie! Of ALL the stories I have?”

Sera snorts. “Did it survive?”

“Yes. But only because Alistair and Wynn hid him.” Leliana says. “The camp was...tense...for a while.”

By the fire, Krem and Blackwall are sat opposite each other, with Cole between them.

“So Warden Blackwall holds it steady, and you just put the needle through like that?” Krem demonstrates, grabbing the needle on the other side. “Then pull the thread all the way through, and then back around. You try.”

“I can’t.” Cole looks down. “My arm is strapped.”

“Your right hand still works, Cole.” Blackwall says, tapping the hand. 

“That’s the wrong one?”

Krem looks from Cole to Blackwall, who nods after a moment and takes the needle from Krem. 

“Cremisius is left handed. That’s why he’s using that hand with the needle. But you and me, we can use our right hands.” He holds up the needle in his right hand.

“We can?” Cole looks at his right hand, and then at Blackwall. “Oh. Good.”

“Just like I did.” Krem says as Cole takes the needle. “Only...with the other hand.”

Blackwall holds up the fabric. “Bit small for a blanket.”

“This is going to be a matching pillow case. It was Dorian’s idea”

“Fancy.” Blackwall says.

“We’ll have to make three.” Cole says. “The Iron Bull has three pillows on his bed.”

“I don’t want to know how you know that, lad.”

“I sleep with him, sometimes.”

“You…” Blackwall can’t finish the sentence. He just blinks.

“When my dreams are bad.” Cole’s voice is quiet. “Dark cupboards or darker dungeons, and then The Iron Bull takes me to his bed and says ‘No nightmares here, kid’ and he holds me.” Cole continues to sew as he talks. “He tells me stories. They make my dreams nicer. I go on adventures with the Chargers while we sleep.”

Krem and Blackwall hold eye contact for a second, and then both laugh.

“What?”

“Nothing, Cole.” Krem says, patting the boy’s shoulder. “Nothing. You’re good.” He looks back at Blackwall. “You alright with him if I get back to helping Lady Montilyet.”

“We’ll manage.” Blackwall winks, and then turns to watch Cole as he sews.

“Everyone.” Dorian enters the room, holding up two jugs. “We return with wine.”

Behind him, The Inquisitor is holding a tray of cups, and another jug. 

“Tiny sharp objects and alcohol.” Sera giggles. “This will be fun.”

Dorian joins Sera’s laughter as he passes her a cup. 

“Cole?” The Inquisitor asks.

“Best not with the potions.” Blackwall says.

“I’ll have his, Your Worship.” Krem raises his hand.


	6. The Mother

The world sleeps around Cole, and the pain is getting loud again, so Cole climbs out of The Inquisitor’s bed.

Blackwall is asleep in a bedroll by the fire, Josephine is in a bedroll beside him. There is a space between them that neither wants there, and their hands cross the gap that the world makes. 

Cole carefully reaches out, and moves Josephine’s hand to touch Blackwall’s. She hums in her sleep, but does not wake. Cole smiles, and stands. 

He hears a gasp, and looks towards where Dorian is asleep in a small pile of blankets. The mage is mumbling incoherently as he dreams, and Cole kneels down beside him, resting a hand on Dorian’s shoulder. 

“You let him peak under the mask, and he didn’t turn away. He likes what he saw. He wants you to go back.”

Dorian relaxes, and a small smile comes to his face.

Leliana’s bedroll is near the bed where Cole had been sleeping. She is quiet, but Cole knows better as he places a hand on her forehead. 

“You are still her hand. You do her work with the Inquisitor.”

Leliana turns her head, and sighs in her sleep.

It’s awkward with one hand bound, but Cole manages to climb the ladder to the loft area. Sure enough Krem and Sera are up here, their bedrolls set in a sloppy T formation with Sera at Krem’s feet so that she is like a guard. Because Krem is the wrong shape. The shape is in the clothes piled up against the wall. 

He won’t want to be seen, so Cole doesn’t look. He leaves the sleeping friends and climbs back down the ladder.

Jostled by the movement, Cole’s wrist burns and his stomach has a numb sick feeling, and he wants to sit with Blackwall again. But he can’t wake him. Sleep is hard. Blackwall needs to stay asleep now that he is, or he might not sleep again. So Cole, barefoot, descends the stairs.

The pain is loud but his mind wants to be quiet. His thoughts are in a fog, and the main hall spins. The Inquisitor’s throne gets bigger and smaller. Cole feels emptiness climb up from his stomach and he whimpers.

“My child.” The voice comes from his right. Gentle hands on his shoulders, an embrace from behind. “You should not be up at this hour. You are injured. What do you seek?”

But it can’t be her. She is dead to Cole, a fleeting memory of a single gentle touch and a soft voice made sharp by fear. ‘ _Take Bunny and hide_.’

Her voice is deeper now. Softer. The gentle touch is not fleeting, it’s warm. He leans towards it and arms wrap around him.

“Mo…hurts” Cole stumbles in the dream, and the arms support him in a slow descent to the floor, lying on the steps leading up to the throne, his head in her lap as she sits beside him. Her hand is in his hair. She is humming.

Cole’s vision is a single spot, a fire lit at the end of the hall.

‘ _Now let your breath out. Slowly. Don’t blow out the flame._ ’

“That poor thing’s trembling. I’ll get him my cloak.” Footsteps, but not his mother’s footsteps. She is still sat, and she is still humming.

Cole’s eyes sting, and he feels warmth on his face that quickly cools. The backs of fingers brush down his cheek. 

“Hush now. Just rest, child. You are safe in here.”

He can feel his body trying to sleep, but Cole fights it. He only has fleeting memories of his mother. He doesn’t want to sleep before he has finished making this one. The flame keeps burning as he breathes. A heavy cloak now covers him, and momma is here holding him. Singing to him.

“Should I send for the healers, Revered Mother?”

“He needs only something for his pain.” Giselle smiles as she looks up at the kindly elf servant who brought the cloak. Reaching into her pocket, she hands her a key. “There is a box by my bed. Please bring me the red bottle.”

“Right away, Ma’am.”

Giselle watches the elf leave, and then returns her attention to Cole, continuing to hum as she does so.


	7. The Illness

“I can walk.” Cole argues, quietly.

“I know, lad.” Blackwall nods as he carries Cole back up the stairs to The Inquisitor’s room. “Indulge me. You’re antics are setting off my protective streak.”

“Because I can break now.” Cole presses his face into Blackwall’s shoulder. “I can shatter, crumble. Slip in the snow. Become hungry. Become sick.” He looks up at Blackwall. “I can die. I will die one day. Of sickness or hunger or I’ll break too much or...”

“Or maybe you’ll live to see the next age. You’re not even twenty yet, Cole. Don’t be thinking about death.” Blackwall reaches the top of the stairs, and makes his way over to the fire. 

“I became human because I wanted to live. But...to live, I have to die.”

“Well, you’re in a good mood.” Blackwall smiles sadly, and hugs Cole a bit closer. Then he kneels, encouraging the boy into the wardens warm bedroll and covering him with the blankets. Laying beside Cole, Josephine sleepily moves a bit closer, and drapes an arm over him.

Blackwall sits cross legged in front of Cole. “Go back to sleep if you can, lad. Or just lay there with your eyes shut. I’ll tell you some stories.”

And he does just that. A story about a Nug King. A story about a dragon who befriends a princess. A story about the time he and two Grey Wardens found a walking tree in a forest. And Cole lays there with his eyes closed, focusing on Blackwall’s hand holding his. Josephine’s hug. He focuses the way he focuses on the candle when he plays the game with Cullen. The gentle touch becomes everything for Cole.

He doesn’t realise that he has fallen asleep until the time changes, and Blackwall is now sitting at The Inquisitor’s desk with a book.

The warden stands as footsteps are heard on the stairs.

“Inquisitor?”

The Inquisitor stirs and sits up in the bed.

“Sorry to wake you, Inquisitor." The Guard salutes. "Master Tethras has returned from the Hinterlands with his party.”

“They’re not expected back for days.” The Inquisitor gets out of the bed, donning a robe over their sleeping shirt. Around them, the room is waking up as well. “Is everything alright?”

“No, your worship. One of them’s been taken ill. The healer thinks it might be Knife Flu.”

The Inquisitor nods, feeling their insides go cold.

“Knife flu?” Josephine asks.

“It’s CALLED Arlathan Flu.” Sera says aggressively to the guard. Krem stands behind her, a blanket wrapped around his torso. 

“Arlathan.” Sera carries on. “Not that hard to say. Don’t hear me calling the human one Shem Flu, do you?”

“Sorry, ma’am.” The Guard looks at the floor.

“Arlathan Flu can be fatal to elves.” The Inquisitor turns back to the guard, feeling numb. “Who is sick?”

“A girl named Shiavra, your Worship.”

“Skinner.” Krem mutters under his breath, and Sera rests a hand on his shoulder.

“Where have they taken Shiavra?” Leliana asks.

“Set up a tent village the other side of the bridge, Ma’am. Got her here for treatment, but didn’t want to risk bringing her into Skyhold itself. We’ve got kniv...elves...everywhere here.”

“Have you told Bull?” Krem asks. 

“He was sent for first, Lieutenant. He’s at her side. Won’t be coming back. The healer’s put a full quarantine up. Entire party.”

“Even those that are not elves?” The Inquisitor says.

“Good old Stitches.” Dorian sighs. “Why use a hammer when you’ve got a battering ram handy?”

The guard nods. “He said he don’t know if other races can carry it.”

“We should go.” Sera says.

“Not you.” Krem says. “You need to stay here where it’s safe.”

“Shite I’m staying safe, Krem. Skinny’s my friend too.”

He nods. “And she won’t want you getting this thing.”

“It’s for your own good, Sera.” Dorian says. “Arlathan flu is highly contagious, and not kind. I’ve seen the poor victims of it myself.”

“Me too." Sera argues. "And it’s a bastard. I’m not leaving Skinny alone with it. If I get sick, I get sick. Don’t give a shite.” 

“But WE give a shite.” Josephine smiles, sadly. “Please, Sera, Cremisius is right. Your friend would not want you to become ill because of her.”

Sera sighs, looking close to tears as she turns to Krem. “You frigging... you look after her, you hear?”

Krem acknowledges the group with a nod, and then climbs back up the ladder to change into his day clothes.

Dorian pulls Sera into a hug, and then looks around the room, narrowing his eyes. “Where’s Cole?”

* * *

“You need to go back across the bridge.”

“But I can help?”

Stitches crosses his arms. “You look like you need help yourself.” He indicates Cole’s broken wrist with a nod. “And, Cole your feet are bare. You’re going to get frostbite.”

“Frost doesn’t have teeth?”

The healer then looks past Cole to see Krem and The Inquisitor crossing the bridge. 

“Andraste’s Tits.” Stitches says to the sky.

“Please let him in, Stitches.” The Inquisitor asks, indicating Krem.

“It’s not a fucking quarantine if I’ve got all of Skyhold in it.”

“Don’t swear in front of their worship?” Krem admonishes.

“Apologies, _your worship_ , but I’m trying not to cause an epidemic. Solas and Dalish were the only other elves in the party. They aren’t showing symptoms yet, so we MIGHT have caught it early, BUT...I can’t be sure.” Stitches looks at where Cole HAD been standing. “Andras...COLE!” And he disappears back inside the tent, returning a moment later while dragging Cole by the material of his pyjamas.

“Cremisius, if you’re staying then go sit with Dalish in the other tent?” Stitches gently pushes Cole in that direction as well. “She’s got to be mad with worrying in there. And get the lad some...”

And Cole immediately turns around and runs back into the healers tent.

“...socks.” Stitches rolls his eyes and then chases after the boy.

“Stitches is always so good in a crisis.” The Inquisitor says.

“An inspiration to us all.” Krem replies, dryly.


	8. The Name

Cole sorts through the supplies chest, picking out a healing poultice and crushing it into a large bowl.

“Stitches is going to kill you.” The Iron Bull says from where he is sitting next to Skinner’s bed. “That stuffs expensive.”

“He won’t mind.” Cole says as he places the bowl on the bedside table, and disappears out into the camp. He returns a moment later with the heavy kettle from the cooking fire, stumbling as he carries it one handed over to the bedside table.

“Need a hand there?” The Iron Bull quietly chuckles at his own joke as he takes the kettle from Cole, easily lifting it and, at Cole’s direction, tipping the water into the bowl. The steam quickly rises.

“What are we doing here, kid?”

“Making the air into medicine.”

Nodding, The Iron Bull reaches into the bed and helps Skinner to sit up, learning her against the Qunari’s chest while Cole hands him the bowl. The Iron Bull holds the bowl just above Skinner’s lap, and sure enough, the elf soon starts to breathe easier, and her coughs sound looser.

“Good work, kid.”

Cole smiles, before picking up a blanket and wrapping it around Skinner’s shoulders.

“She wants her friend with three names.” Cole says. “Her name, the Charger name, and the name in Skinner’s heart. Mamae.” He looks at The Iron Bull, then shakes his head and steps back.

“Dark, crying everywhere. Guards chasing me. Blood hot on my hands where I cut the butchers. Can’t see for tears. Sweat. Someone else running, cold magic in my legs, I fall. So cold.” He hugs himself. “Arms lifting me up in a cloak. ‘I’m sorry, Da’len. I had to catch you. Here, it’s going to be alright.’ She steps behind a mountain with horns. The guards come and he fights them.” 

The Iron Bull puts the bowl on the table, and rests a hand on Skinner’s forehead.

“Later she sits me on the ground, cleans my hands.” Cole looks down at his unbound hand. “She’s smiling. Smiling the way mothers smile at their daughters in the markets. 

“The mountain with horns gives me a bread roll. ‘Guess you’re coming with us, kid. You're good with your knives. Damn near took that noble bastard’s skin off.’ ‘Oh no, sir. She’s too young to be doing all that yet.’ Arms around me. ‘Poor little Halla Fawn. How long have you been alone in that horrible place? Well, you’re not alone now.’ Tears burn again.” Cole is almost crying himself as he looks back up.

“Dalish is probably worried sick.” The Iron Bull says, as he rubs Skinner’s back.

“Krem and Solas are with Dalish. Varric too.” He smiles. “And we’re with Skinner. You, me and Stitches.” He lowers his voice. “The Inquisitor said that this can kill. Will it kill? Is she breaking?”

The Iron Bull shakes his head. “Skinner’s a tough kid, Cole. She’s got a lot of fight in her.” He turns to the elf, his voice low. “You’ve beaten worse than this. This is NOTHING. You hear me? You’re going to beat this thing.”

Skinner nods, her eyes shut tightly.

Cole takes hold of Skinner’s hand. “Skinner, what would MY charger name be?”

Skinner’s eyes open slightly, and she looks at Cole.

“Your charger name?” The Iron Bull asks for her.

“They have charger names?” Cole says. “Cremisius, Krem. Daniel, Stitches. Shiavra, Skinner. Danyva, Dalish. Jerrel, Rocky.” He narrows his eyes. “Grim only has one?”

“Sometimes people like a fresh start. Leave their old name and life behind.” The Iron Bull gently lays Skinner back down. “Let Skinner rest, Cole. You can ask her your questions when she’s feeling better.”

“But I want her to think about things that aren’t being sick.” Cole argues, but then looks down. “Sorry.”

“Flame.” Skinner murmurs after a moment. 

Cole looks at Skinner. “Flame?”

“Yeah.” The Iron Bull smiles. “That’s a good one, Skinner.” He looks at Cole. “When you light a fire, it makes the world warmer. Brings a little light. And it can comfort, listening to a campfire when the night is quiet.”

“Or the candle game.” Cole says.

The Iron Bull laughs. “But fire can be deadly too. You don’t want to get it angry.” He shakes his head.

Skinner smiles, despite how rotten she clearly feels. 

“Flame.” Cole mouths the name a few times. “I like it. Thank you.”

“Sleep now, Skinner.” The Iron Bull says softly, moving the bowl so that it is right on the edge of the table, next to the bed. Then he turns to Cole. “Cole, go eat some of that soup the Inquisitor sent over. You look pale.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Humour me.” The Iron Bull pushes Cole none to gently towards the entrance, and the boy nods before disappearing outside.

The Iron Bull turns back to his sick charger, waiting for her to be comfortably asleep before following the boy back out into the camp. He meets Stitches at the door, who pats his arm before going into the tent. A changing of the guard.

Outside, Cole has been handed his soup in a mug, allowing him to drink it one handed as he looks around the quiet camp. Standing, the boy approaches the small ‘barrier’ of rope that Stitches has put up across the camp, and calls for Varric and Solas. They both emerge from the other tent, smiling warmly as they greet Cole across the barrier.

 _‘Flame.’_ The Iron Bull thinks, before laughing.


	9. The Rules

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone had a lovely Christmas :-)

In Varric’s opinion, there is nothing scarier than sitting in a tent opposite someone reading your work.

Especially when that someone is Solas. 

Solas can be surprisingly expressive when he isn’t concentrating on being sanctimonious. He smiles, squints, and at one point laughs out loud. Then he lowers the parchment and looks up at Varric. “It is very enjoyable.”

Varric smiles. Here comes the but.

“However…”

Near enough.

“However?” Varric repeats after a pause.

“No.” Solas shakes his head. “Allowances can be made for dramatic flair. These chapters are fine.”

“Is it about the Despair demon?”

“Yes.” Solas nods.

“Well...tell me, Chuckles. I asked you to read the first chapters to make sure that the demon was accurate.”

“Few who read your novel will know the discrepancies, and he is a well written and enjoyable villain. I found his dialogue to be humorous. I would hate to ruin a fine piece of fiction.”

“But?”

“Very well. Feedback for you to CONSIDER.” Solas folds his hands on his lap. “You’ve written him AS the villain. He knows that he is doing evil, and enjoying the despair he creates.” He sighs. “Despair demons are shaped when there is despair around them. To them, that is the world. So when they encounter something that does not feel despair, they feel that that thing is wrong and needs fixing. So...much like how our friend Cole helps by spreading compassion, a Despair demon HELPS by spreading hopelessness. The pleasure they gain from the task is not from the despair they create, but from the knowledge that they are repairing the world.”

“Are you saying...he would think he is a good guy?”

“Spirits do not think in good or evil. More...how they believe the world should be, and how the world is.” Solas smiles. “But as I said, few would know this. And you have written a fine villain, Varric.”

“No...no that’s drama. A villain that thinks he is the hero. I can work with that.” 

“Perhaps, recognising this, the heroic Knight of Denerim could work to shape her enemy into a spirit of Hope, or Compassion.”

“She can do that?”

“If the demon is not too distracted by trying to kill her, then yes.”

Varric smiles and picks up his pen. “Chuckles, you have my thanks.”

“I look forward to reviewing the next draft. If I may?”

“Well I certainly have time to work on it.” Varric sighs. “You know how much longer Stitches is going to keep us prisoner here?” He suddenly grimaces, sniffing the air. “What’s that smell?”

At the sound of shouting, he and Solas rush out to join Krem and Dalish at the barrier dividing the camp.

On the cooking fire is what, once upon a time, might have been a frying pan.

Cole is sat on the ground, clearly upset as The Iron Bull kneels in front of him.

“Chief, what happened?” Krem shouts.

It is Stitches who answers. “Cole tried to make lunch.” He lifts up the frying pan, and grimaces before holding it over the barrier. “Dale, you like your sausages well done.”

“Not THAT well done.” Dalish shakes her head. 

“Anyone?” Stitches asks.

“We're good.” Krem mutters.

The Iron Bull shakes his head, and turns back to Cole.

“You said fire cooks food?”

“Yes, but you don’t put the pan INTO the fire.” Bull chuckles.

Cole kicks himself away from The Iron Bull and runs into the tent.

The Iron Bull sighs, and then slowly follows him.

“Well, he’s in his happy place.” Varric says, starting under the barrier.

“Ah ah ah.”

“Stitches, come on, the kid’s upset.”

“Chief can handle it.” Stitches says. “Stay in your quarantine. The four of you.”

“As you command, sire.” Solas quips.

Dalish is quiet as she looks at the medical tent.

* * *

  
The Iron Bull steps into the tent to find Cole sitting cross legged on Skinner’s bed, his right hand holding hers as she sleeps.

“She’s getting some colour back.” The Iron Bull says quietly as he stands beside the bed, resting a hand on Skinner’s forehead. Still warm, but not nearly as warm as it has been. “Told you she was a fighter.”

Cole doesn’t answer.

“You okay, Kid?”

“Nothing works the way it should. Blackwall finds me strange, but he cared for me when I was hurt.” Cole hugs himself with his good arm. “Dorian doesn’t want people to know he had sex with you. But it made him happy? He shouldn’t be sad because of happiness.”

The Iron Bull chuckles, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, yeah...it made him happy, did it?” He smiles.

“And Krem is lieutenant and you’re the commander, but Stitches can give you orders. What are the rules? Sera and Skinner are elves but don’t speak elvish. Why do bodies feel pain? When I wake up, what is a dream and what is real? How do others tell when they are awake? They just know but I don’t. It makes me angry because I don’t understand, but anger is bad. Cullen said so. But I’ve seen HIM angry!”

The Iron Bull nods, quietly listening.

Cole looks down. “The rules change too fast. I’m scared that I will get it wrong and step wrong and fall out of the world…like how Rocky falls into the sky in his nightmares, or when I slipped in the snow? Everyone knows the rules, because they had parents to teach them right from wrong and raise them. But I don’t. I thought I found her, in the keep. But it was a dream. And now mother is an echo again. A memory that I can’t remember.” Cole bites at his lip. “I need to learn, but she can’t teach me and what if I get the rules wrong and someone dies?”

“That won’t happen. You've got us, Kid.” The Iron Bull smiles, placing a hand against Cole’s trembling back. “Yeah, I know the world can be a confusing place, especially when you're young. And you’re going to make mistakes, get the rules wrong. We all do. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Cole sniffs, but also nods.

“You’re learning, and no you don’t have any parents to help you along, but that doesn’t mean you’re doing it alone. You know I don’t mind helping you when you get confused waking up.”

Cole looks up at him.

“Who taught you to tie your shoe laces?”

“Varric.”

“And who sat with you and taught you how to use that cutlery for the banquet last month.”

“Josephine.”

“Yeah. You know, I’ve been to a dozen of those things, and I STILL use the wrong fork each time.”

“Outside in.” Cole whispers.

“I hear Cullen’s been teaching you to relax.”

Cole nods, a small smile appearing on his face.

“That’s better.” The Iron Bull returns the smile, and gently taps Cole’s bound wrist. “Who looked after you when you got hurt?”

“Blackwall.”

“Played with you in the snow?”

He laughs softly. “Dagna and Lace.”

“See? You’re one lucky kid, Cole. You’ve got your own army of people, all looking out for you and ready to teach you stuff. And it’ll take time. Raising a child always does. But we’ll get you there. And hey, you teach us stuff too. Taught me how to help Skinner to breath better last night. You probably helped her a lot doing that.”

“I...I did?”

“Now.” The Iron Bull stands, and holds out his hand. “How about I give you a cooking lesson?”


End file.
